


The Last Dragons

by devon380black (kryptonian17)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Gen, House Targaryen, Minor Violence, questions of sanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptonian17/pseuds/devon380black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Daenerys and Viserys' relationship after Daenerys tries to give a gift to Viserys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Pale Moonlight

In the end she decides to employ Ser Jorah's services and asks him to locate her brother. She does not know where he sleeps these nights since they fought.

She feels that it is not her duty to look after him. She is the  _Khaleesi_ , married to Khal Drogo. She is the one being looked after.

And after he attacked her, she is asking herself why she even allows him to live.

She doesn't need him like before… She has her sun-and-stars now. Her sun-and-stars who holds her close each night and murmurs "my little moon" in Dothraki.

_And what did Viserys ever say to her?_

Her thoughts are interrupted by Ser Jorah's return. He tells her that her brother is not in the camp, that he had to walk a little way off before he could spy the fire which Lord Viserys had lighted to warm himself for the night.

He was alone, Ser Jorah said.

_Strange, I didn't think he could do that. Light a fire on his own? Didn't he usually have slaves to do his bidding?_

* * *

She calls her handmaidens to her and asks them to draw a bath for her. The bath is hot, close enough to scald her delicate skin. It is scented in oils and she slowly steps into the water.

_Fire._

Her handmaidens step closer to her and take hold of her arms. They begin to gently rub and wipe the dirt off her pale skin.

Daenerys quietly observes them. She watches them remove the dust which almost always stuck to her after the journey on horseback and gradually her immaculate skin meets her eyes.

_White skin. Pale as the moon._

She smiles, she understands fully why her sun-and-stars calls her that.

* * *

Her bath is finished. Her handmaidens cover her with fur and she holds it close to dry her body.

Within it, she remembers the feeling of being Dothraki. Of being held close by Khal Drogo. Of riding on silver. She relishes the feeling of being loved.

Her handmaidens move to put oil on her body but she shakes her head no.

"There is no need for that", she softly says and smiles at them. They nod and begin working on her hair.

They are untangling the strands in her hair when one of her handmaidens say: "You have beautiful hair, Khaleesi."

"Thank you", Daenerys replies and reaches out to touch her platinum-white hair. Her eyes follow her hands and she notices the beginnings of little calluses on her palms.

_Calluses from the reins. I am beginning to be Dothraki._

These thoughts cross her mind and she takes delight in them.

She looks at her palms and fingers. They were long and graceful.

_Like Viserys'._

The thought comes unbidden into her mind. She looks back at her hands.

She recalls the fight they had, of her shouting to him that if he ever touched her again he would have no hands.

She saw the look on his face. His pale beautiful face, so much like her own. The look of pain and hurt…and betrayal.

_Blood._

He was bleeding from the wound where the belt had hit him.

_Blood of the dragon._

He is a shadow of a snake not a dragon, she recalls Ser Jorah's remark.

 _Khal Rhae Mhar_ , the Sorefoot King.  _Khal Rhaggat_ , the Cart King. That is how the Dothraki call him.

Yet he calls himself  _the dragon_.

_What is he to her?_

* * *

Daenerys decides to go to her brother.

She rummages in one of the satchels which hold possessions which are special to her. Her hand touches a soft silken material, cool to the skin, and she smiles.

 _Perhaps this will do_.

She remembers his accusing words, " _You presume to dress me now?_ "

And the ensuing argument between them.

She hesitates a moment, afraid of her brother's reaction to her intrusion on his sleep. But then she remembers his bleeding face.

_Blood of the dragon._

* * *

He does not have a tent. He is lying on the ground.

_Strange. He does not like the earth yet he sleeps on it._

Viserys is lying on his side facing the fire. His left hand curved on his sword.

She slowly approaches him. Afraid that he might wake up at the sound of her footsteps.

_You would awaken the dragon?_

Her garments barely make a sound, soft as they are. She is facing him now. Her back to the fire. Her eyes trace his eyebrows, his nose, the downward curve of his mouth.

She realizes that it is a long time since she has seen him smile at her kindly.

His brows are beginning to knit on his forehead. He seemed to be having a nightmare.

Slowly, tentatively, she reaches out her hands to touch him.

Her touch on his hand seems to calm him. His brows are no longer drawn together and she notices the wound which she inflicted on him.

_Blood._

_Blood of the dragon._

_I am the dragon._

He is always reminding her. Yet his words do not affect her now.

She is no longer bound to him, but to another. She is bound to Khal Drogo, a man who loves her and calls her his little moon.

_And what does Viserys call her? What does he think of her?_

* * *

She is nothing more than a trade for the Dothraki army who will besiege the Seven Kingdoms and take back the Iron Throne. Viserys certainly does not hesitate to remind her that.

All her life she was taught to follow Viserys' commands. And she did not question it. Viserys was her only family. He took care of her and he taught her about their heritage as the Targaryens, the Dragons.

_Dany, we are descended from dragons. You and I._

_Long ago, Aegon and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya, sailed from Dragonstone to conquer the Seven Kingdoms._

_They each had a dragon with them, Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhaghar. Aegon was the first Dragon and his sisters were his wives._

_Our father was the last true king of the Seven Kingdoms, before he was betrayed by his Kingsguard. Remember this._

_I am the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and I will take back my birthright when the time is right. And then you will be my queen, Daenarys Stormborn._

She finds herself slowly trailing his brows with her fingertips. Her hands lightly tracing his forehead and moving on to touch his hair.

His platinum-white hair. So much like her own.


	2. Remember, Viserys

At first it was only darkness.

Then a loud crack, as if lightning had struck the very earth before him.There is smoke… and fire.

And there is something else.

He turns around to try and catch it with his eyes but it is swift and he only glimpses a movement in the smoke.

He remembers another storm, many years ago, on the island of Dragonstone. Remembers it clearly, for it was a painful day.

He was reciting the ancient names of his bloodline to his mother. Describing in detail what each of the kings did. He had started with the very first Targaryen to sit on the Iron Throne, Aegon The Conqueror. Then went on to describe the other kings, eventually arriving to his father, Aerys. He does this to show his mother that he doesn’t forget.

_The dragon remembers._

She was smiling at him from her seat near the window. The rays of the setting sun framing her pale hair. She was wearing her crown, as she was wont to do in those troubled times, as if to show anyone and everyone that House Targaryen still held the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms.

“Very good, my little dragon”, she had said to him and he smiled at her proudly. She was his mother and she was his only family.

She touched her belly, already it was so enlarged that he was afraid his mother might burst. Her face was very pale, her eyes dull.

He frowned. He was worried for her; he remembered Princess Elia, his brother’s wife. He remembered escaping from the Sack of King’s Landing, hearing Princess Elia’s screams as her children were killed before her eyes. The Usurper’s soldiers had gone to the nursery first, intent upon killing Rhaegar’s heirs and hurting his wife. His brother was away fighting Robert Baratheon on the Trident.

His mother had taken his hand and together they went to the waiting ship bound for Dragonstone. He had asked about his father, King Aerys, and his mother had said that his father was safe; he had his golden soldiers and they were staying at the throne room to await the Usurper’s forces, thus ensuring that his mother and he would have time to escape.

The ship was silently drifting from the port. Its sails were black so as to avoid detection. He was looking at his mother. He had a vague feeling that she was hiding her true feelings from him; that she was just showing him a brave face.

_The dragon does not show fear._

She had placed her hand on her belly.

Suddenly, she turned her head to the city. Somehow, she was looking towards the direction of the throne room, her eyes burning with a strange fire. Her hand went up to her heart and for a moment, just a moment, Viserys felt fear. Fear for his mother, because in that moment where his mother’s hand had gone from her belly to her heart he had seen a window of such pain and desperation in his mother’s beautiful face.

_The dragon does not show fear._

“Viserys… _always remember_. Remember that the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms are YOURS. You are descended from dragons. Dragonblood flows in your veins. _You ARE the dragon…_ ”

“Mother, why are you telling me this?”, he had interrupted her. He did not understand. The note of desperation in her voice was the only indication of the importance of what she was telling him.

She turned to look at him and he was pierced by her lilac eyes.

“Remember this, Viserys”, she whispered.

He saw the fire die in his mother’s eyes. He slowly nodded his assent and said,  
“Always, I promise.”

A single tear fell from Rhaella’s face as she looked at her young son. In him she saw the hope for House Targaryen but she felt a sense of foreboding as well. Already, she had felt the quickening of life in her womb. Aerys’ last seed had taken root.

A red sun was rising as they arrived at Dragonstone, the stronghold of their House. Viserys stayed at his mother’s side as they went and inspected each room. His mother had ordered the servants to tidy up the nursery. He had found this odd. In King’s Landing he had his own room and the nursery was for little children like his niece, Rhaenys, and nephew, Aegon. Unless…

Viserys looked at his mother, taking note of any indications that she was with child. She always seemed to have a hand at her belly, as if shielding it.

_Or perhaps she was in pain?_

Rhaella raised her head from looking at her belly.

“Viserys?”

“Mother, are you well?”

“Of course, child. Why would you ask that?”

“Your hand, it is always at your belly. I was thinking you might be in pain or…”, he left the sentence hanging.

“I think you know the reason, Viserys.”

“When is it coming, mother?”

Rhaella smiled at her son. He was always asking about things, wanting to know when everything would happen. She perceived this as a good trait to be found in a king. A good strategist, a good king.

“Soon, my little dragon.”

Viserys frowned. His eyebrows clashing on his forehead. He had begun to contemplate many things. He was so deep in thought that she feared he would tire himself out from thinking too much.

She reached out a hand to touch his forehead. The moment her hand touched his skin, she felt the fire that was in him, burning just under the surface.

Gradually, Viserys smiled at his mother. He had noticed that her eyes seemed only to have the ghost of the strange fire which consumed them while they were on the ship.

He promised himself to be strong for his mother, to be strong for the little dragon she was carrying inside her. He was a Targaryen, a dragon.

_I will take back the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. They are made for me. They are mine._

_It is a song in his blood._

They stayed at Dragonstone for many moons. His mother slowly losing her strength while the little dragon grew inside her. He tried to ignite the fire in her lilac eyes but it was to no avail. She was slowly fading before his eyes.

He had asked her once why she had that strange look as she gazed at the Red Keep.

She had hesitated and then turned to look at him fully. Her lilac eyes to his. The same color, yet there was a hint of a feverish look in his own.

“Your father was not just my husband.”

He nodded for her to go on. He had known this. It was Targaryen tradition to marry one’s sister or, in the case of his mother, one’s brother. His brother Rhaegar had taken a Martell as a wife, Princess Elia of Dorne, since they had no sisters. Viserys and his brother were the only children of Aerys and Rhaella.

“He was also my brother… The moment his- … I felt- …”, his mother turned away from him. For a moment, caught in a painful memory.

“Mother, it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me…”

“No, Viserys. You must know this…”

Viserys gulped. He did not want his mother to be pained by his questions.

“I felt his pain the moment his life was taken from him… the moment his throat was cut open by his golden guard, Lannister. I felt his life leave his body. My husband, my brother was dead.”

Viserys took this all in without a wavering look. His eyes were fixed on his mother. He hoped his silent presence was soothing to his mother’s grief.

“How is this possible?”, he whispered.

His mother gave him a sad smile.

“Most historians in the Seven Kingdoms do not know how the Dragons came to do our bidding. They think that we have some tool that we use to manipulate them. Do you have an idea how we control the dragon, Viserys?”

Viserys was shaken from his concentration by the unexpected question. He shook his head then he saw the spark of fire in his mother’s eyes.

“The dragons are drawn to us. We can speak to dragons. It is our blood right as Targaryens. And this is how I was able to know the exact moment your father’s life was stolen from him. He spoke to me in my mind.”

Viserys paled at this revelation.

_We can send our thoughts to each other? Like letters?_

_Yes we can, my little dragon._

“How?!?”

His mother smiled at him. She was amused at his shock. Viserys returned a smile. He was happy to have been the cause of her joy.

“I will teach you how to control this.”

She smiled at him then. Her eyes slowly dulling down.

Viserys had noticed that she was getting tired so he left her with a word of gratitude, intent upon seeking the servants to make his mother more comfortable and bring back her health.

To please his mother, he recited the names of the old Targaryen kings to her. He was showing her that he was keeping his promise. He was not forgetting.

* * *

 

It was on one such day, that he lost his mother forever.

His mother had excused herself from dinner; she had wanted to rest. The whole household was settling down for the night. The summer storm beginning to rage on the outer walls of the ancient Targaryen stronghold.

Already he could hear the howl of the wind, as if raging banshees were just outside their castle. He could hear the crash of waves on the ship which had delivered them to Dragonstone.

It is in between stopping his ears and trying to fall asleep that he hears a great crack. As if the world was splitting into two, like a giant egg. The rain began to fall faster and the muffled sound of the raindrops increased into an oppressive hum.

_Crack!_

Thunder rumbled above. Lightning and thunder dance with each other.

He feels a sense of foreboding. He feels that something is not right. He runs to his mother’s room. He sees that the wet nurse is there outside the doors. He opens the doors before anyone can stop him and he finds himself in her chambers.

_Blood._   
_There is blood._   
_Blood on the bed._   
_Blood of the dragon._

“Viserys…”, he hears her rasp his name.

“Mother…?”, he approaches her. Confused and frightened. He does not care that he is showing fear. He  
knows that something important is happening.

He holds her hand and looks into her lilac eyes. He is surprised to find the strange fire in her eyes again. Before he can speak, she utters:

“Viserys, you and she are the last dragons. Remember what I told you.”

_She?_

_Yes, a sister for my little dragon._

She gave him a sweet smile. He feels fear again. Fear for his mother because he knows what will happen next. He can feel it in the air.

“My little dragon… do not fret, you have made me happy.”, she whispers.

_Remember, Viserys._

_Always, mother._

_I love you._

He echoes the sentiment before realizing that she is gone forever. Her eyes glaze over. Her hands cold.

Crack!

Lightning strikes the roof and the sound startles the baby. A wailing sound is emitting from the side of the bed. He slowly disentangles his fingers from his mother’s hands.

Stepping to the side of the bed, he is frowning. He feels desolate. He has just lost his mother because of this baby. He does not want to deal with her yet.

He moves to instruct the wet nurse but his curiosity rears its head so he finds himself reaching out a hand to the thing swaddled in white silk sheets.

The baby's hands are flailing. It is eager to be attended to.

He is looking down on it now. He reaches out a hand and is surprised that the baby grabs the littlest finger of his left hand.

He uses his other hand to touch the baby’s pale hair; he notices that it is the same as his own. She will have my eyes too, he knows this.

_Everything that I am is her own._

For a moment there is silence. As though the storm has passed.

“Daenerys, that will be your name… Daenerys Stormborn.”


	3. An Old Dark Cloth

 

The Targaryen crest is a three-headed dragon, red on black. It is said that the three heads are for the first Targaryens to rule the Seven Kingdoms.

Daenerys had learnt this from her brother.

* * *

 

She remembers that slow afternoon, when she came bounding up the stairs holding an old dark cloth with interesting markings.

She had found Viserys at a window gazing out at the sea. Looking for what, she did not know.

She stood at the door, silently battling with herself if she should break his reverie.

" 'serys?", she softly called out to him.

Viserys turned to her and quirked a pale eyebrow. He looked tired but Daenerys decided to ask him nonetheless, her curiousity getting the better of her.

"Do you know what this is?", she said, trying to hold up the cloth while walking towards him.

"There are strange markings on it. Something with three heads...", she continued. The cloth was bigger than her and she was afraid it would fall on her head and hide her from Viserys.

Viserys had not spoken but merely held out his hand for her to give him the cloth.

"Come here, _Dany_ ", he said while motioning for her to sit beside him.

She smiled, Viserys was the only one who called her that.

_She was his Dany. To everyone else she was Daenerys Stormborn, sister to the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms._

She sat down and waited for him to speak.

* * *

 

_Her brother was a mystery to her._

Sometimes he would seem angry at her, looking at her with furrowed brows. Other times he would sigh and fall silent, not speaking to her but just looking out at sea. In rare occasions he would smile at her fondly.

Daenerys wanted to see him smile. Especially at her. She never wanted him to be angry at her.

There were not many people on the island who talked to her, other than Ser William Darry (who was mostly confined to his room), her brother, and her nurse. If Viserys was angry at her then it was one less person to be with.

* * *

 

" _Dany_ , where did you find this?", Viserys asked her. His lilac eyes looking at her own.

"In one of the traveling chests. Isn't it so soft, ‘serys?", she asked him while putting the cloth to her cheek.

Viserys nodded at her simple question while still holding her gaze. His eyes seemed to change, as if showing a small fire being lit inside him.

They stayed that way for a while.

Daenerys was slowly wondering why her brother was looking so intently at her.

To an outsider, it would have seemed a curious sight. Two pale-haired children, looking at each other, unmoving as if they were beautiful statues, holding an old dark cloth.

* * *

 

Daenerys blinks from her recollection and leaves the soft cloth beside Viserys. She thinks it would serve as a gentle reminder to him as to who she is.

She looks one last time at her brother before going back to her tent at the center of the Dothraki camp.

Unbeknownst to Daenerys, there is a pair of eyes who has seen her at her brother's sleeping form.

A figure steps out from the darkness and silently draws near to Viserys. The soft cloth is picked up.

_He must not see this._

It is while plotting this that the intruder steps upon a twig.

The resounding crack is enough to jolt Viserys from his slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same version posted in my LJ and other relevant sites.


	4. A Golden Crown

 

He is watching Dany eat the horse heart.

For the life of him, he feels fear. Not for himself, no... but for her. It is uncommon but it is there. A small glimmer, hidden in his glass heart.

He examines it. Why should he fear for her?

_She is nothing more than a tool to ensure the acquisition of an army._

Yet there it is... fear clinking around in his heart, making him ill at ease, breathing a little rapidly and wanting to go near her, his sister, to make sure she is not hurt.

_What?_

Making sure that she isn't hurt? That is a foreign thought. Why should he care for her? He asks himself.

He muses... thinking back on what she had done. The wound she had given him, knowing it would scar his face. He does not touch it, he fears what the others would think, he fears drawing their attention to it... they might wonder _who dared to hurt him._

Him! The dragon prince, no, dragon king! He looks to his side to see if anyone has noticed his musings. No, they have not seen him. In fact they have not given him any notice. They are all looking at Dany. They are even chanting some nonsense, the only thing he manages to understand is a slight sound resembling Dany's full name, Daenerys, although it sounds more like 'den-air-is'.

She is still eating the heart. Blood dripping from her mouth.

Chewing, chewing, chewing.

He chances a glance at Mormont and finds the naked emotion on his companion's face. Mouth open, eyes greedily taking in the sight before them.

_Why would Mormont be acting like a dying man offered food and water?_

_Of course!_

_The man must be taken with his sister._ She would seem like a pretty little thing to Mormont's eyes.

He is interrupted in his musings by the clear sound of Dany's voice proclaiming something unintelligible. He does not understand her but he does hear a familiar word... _Rhaego_ , which sounded a lot like his brother's name.

He used to tell her of their family, of Rhaegar and Elia and their children, of their father and mother. He wonders when she stopped asking about them. Thinks back on it and figures out that the last time she mentions them was when he hit her for complaining to him that her stomach hurt and why couldn't they sell the golden crown which he was bringing along with them.

_The golden crown which was his last reminder of their mother._

* * *

 

 

They had been walking towards a little city near the coast of the Narrow Sea, living off water and some berries. He had lugged the small rucksack for a few miles before stopping and telling his sister to hold the rucksack for him.

He had changed his clothes and thought it best to look presentable for he was, _is_ , a prince. It would do well to look the part, even though he sometimes didn't feel like it. He looked over at Dany and gave her a cleaner dress to wear.

They had continued walking along, stomachs grumbling, the heat of the mid-day sun slowly boiling their brains. They entered the city and were slowly making their way around the outer parts. Asking around for any loyal followers of their father, the so-called _Mad King_.

Asking around and finding no clear answers, some even turning them away with a slight sneer on their faces; he had a feeling that they derived satisfaction from seeing the descendants of the Targaryens, the ones who claimed to be born from dragons, as wanderers forced to debase themselves in order to survive.

But no! He would not do that!

_He would not beg and plead. He was a Targaryen, by blood and authority, he expected them to cater to his wishes._

Yet these past few years had slowly challenged that thought. Sometimes begging was the only way to get food and shelter for himself and Dany.

_Dany._

Dany, who had cried after being thrown out of Ser Willlem's house, or the house with the red door if you asked her.

She talked of it as one would talk of home. But that was not home.

_Home was Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms._

He had renewed his promise then, to take back the seven kingdoms, if not for himself then for his sister. Promised to give her a home where they would remember who they were.

_Targaryens, rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, born of dragons, last of their kind._

* * *

 

 

After not finding anyone who would take them in, they had made camp a little way out of the city. Dany stood beside him as he rummaged in the rucksack to look for anything they could exchange for food.

He knew they couldn't live off berries indefinitely. Young as he was, he knew that they needed to eat more. Already, he was feeling the effects of continued hunger. His clothes seemed loose-fitting and he sometimes felt like he was going out of his mind, wanting to do this and that, any hindrance enough to enrage him. He struggled to control what he felt, the feeling of going crazy and the rage.

_Rage._

_Feeling as though there was a burning in his chest and mind._

Further compounded by hunger. _Must be the dragon part of me, he sometimes reasoned with himself._

He had looked at Dany and observed that she was slowly looking like their mother before she was born. Face paler than usual and limbs slowly thinning out. He had easily felt the bones on her wrist when he held her hand.

As he rummaged through the rucksack, moving things about, the crown had fallen out. Dany had picked it up and was looking at it.

He had not given it any thought. He knew his sister would take care of the crown. It was the last thing they had of their mother's.

His hands came up empty and he made a sound of displeasure.

_Dany spoke then. It would have been better if she hadn't, he mused._

"I'm hungry 'serys."

"As am I, Dany. But we don't have any berries left and we have nothing of value to bargain for food."

_"What about the crown, 'serys? Wouldn't it be enough to fetch us some food?"_

* * *

 

 

He does not remember hitting her.

He only remembered the rage. Of hearing her speak such callous words and then seeing red.

* * *

 

 

His sister was looking at him like he was the foulest monster in all of Essos.

She was lying on her back, her arms trying to shield her face. A slight pink bruise slowly forming on her arms.

_What have I done?_

_What have I done?_

He did not like seeing the fearful look in his sister's eyes.

_Why did I do this?_

He tried to remember what they were talking about before he hit her.

He had said that they had nothing left to bargain with. And then… then Dany remarked that they should sell their mother's crown.

_Sell their mother's crown?_

_That's mad._

_Mad._

**_MAD…_ **

_Mad… like the their father._

_No. No. No._

**_Stop!_ **

_Do NOT think of him._

_I am NOT mad._

_We are not mad._

_We are merely hungry._

_Yes._

_Hungry._

* * *

 

 

But despite what he tried to reason with himself, he felt it in his mind. The madness. Madness stemming from the rage.

Rage he has felt for the utter unfairness of life.

_Why did they have to leave home?_

_Why did they have to leave King's Landing?_

_Why did his father have to die?_

_Why did his mother have to die?_

_Why did he have to take care of Dany?_

**_Because you have to. You promised._ **

* * *

 

 

He had turned to Dany then.

Spoken the words that he thought would make it justifiable somehow but never could.

_"You should not have awakened the dragon."_


	5. A Slight Hiss

Viserys knows they will never follow him.

  
He is not ignorant. He knows that they laugh at him behind his back and call him  _Khal Rhae Mar_ , The Sorefoot King. Some even dare laugh at his face.

  
So when he sees his sister being cheered on by the khalasar, his worst fears are confirmed. He will never go back to Westeros. There won't be a Dothraki army at his bidding. He will never go home.

  
He will be stuck here in this dusty place forever known as the Sorefoot King, nay, the  _Beggar King_.

  
He sweeps out of the tent, wanting to be alone. No one stops him. It's as if he is not even important enough to warrant any attention. He wishes they had never made a deal with the Dothraki. He wishes that they never left Illyrio's house.

  
_Nothing good ever came out of this_ , he thinks grimly.

 

* * *

  
He wants to continue going to Westeros himself but doesn't know how. Or rather he doesn't have the means to go. He does not have gold nor silver.  He does not have anything of value to barter for passage on a ship.

  
What could he do?

  
He stops a bitter laugh from escaping his mouth.

  
He could do what he did best.

  
_Begging again_ , he points out to himself.

  
Begging would take time. And he doesn't think the people in the khalasar would willingly give him anything really. He could threaten them , but he knows it won't have any effect. They don't fear him.

  
He lists down what he has. He has the clothes he wears, which are covered with grass stains and mud. He has his sword, but he doesn't want to part with it. He needs to defend himself after all. Despite never having learnt how.

* * *

  
Rhaegar was supposed to teach him. His brother promised to teach him right before he left for the Trident. He was in the room with the dragon bones that day. Climbing up on the dragon heads and pretending to be flying. Rhaegar had called out to him and told him that he would be leaving soon.

He had asked why and Rhaegar had smiled and said: "To defend love and honor."

  
"I'm certain you will succeed, brother. I wish I could fight like you.", Viserys quietly said.

  
"When I return, I will teach you the ways of the sword.", Rhaegar had promised him then.

  
Viserys could only nod happily. He was going to be like his brother. He was going to fight like him. His sword flashing and slicing. The greatest Targaryen, in little Viserys' eyes. The 'Prince' that was promised.

  
But that was not to be.

  
Rhaegar died on the Trident by Robert Baratheon's hands. His chest plate crushed, the rubies scattered. His dragon blood flowing on its waters.  Draining his life and the hope of all Targaryens.

  
No, Viserys will not part with his sword.

* * *

  
He remembers Dany's 'gift' to him.

  
The bronze belt which had cut his face. It was obviously of value. Maybe he could exchange it for some food and passage on a ship to take him away from the khalasar.

  
He could look for it now, while everyone was away. He makes his way to Dany's tent. It's airy and big. He looks for the bronze belt. His eyes are roaming around. Trying to find where Dany could have put it.

  
It's in his third sweep of the tent that his eyes alight on a chest.

  
A strange feeling creeps up his neck. Something familiar is inside it. He holds out his hand to the chest and then he hears it.

  
A slight hiss.

  
He draws back his hand and closes his eyes.

  
_I just imagined it_ , he says to himself.

  
It's while he's closing his eyes that he sees them.

  
At first a great red eye looking at him. Then scales, a long neck of scales, gleaming and reflecting fire. Then large bat-like wings which unfurl and cover out all the light.


End file.
